bang bang
by finaljoy
Summary: Talia survived, which hadn't been a part of the plan. Gotham not blowing up had most certainly not been a part of the plan, either. Suspended in chaos, Talia is locked away in Arkham Asylum, awaiting trial as she heals. The worst part is not knowing what to do next. Talia doesn't even know who she is without vengeance, a plan and Bane at her side. And that absolutely terrifies her.
1. so she still hurts

_**AN I don't know if I should be posting this, with so many stories that get neglected, BUT OH WELL. This story is about what would happen after TDKR, if Talia and Bane survived. The set up is a little different, as well as the way of writing for various plot/setting reasons. I don't really know where it's headed, or even how long it's going to be, but it's been running around in my head for a while and I finally ended up writing it. **_

It hurt.

Talia hadn't thought much about how she'd die lately, she'd always assumed she, like all of those other twisted souls in Gotham, would be swallowed by the bomb blast, and that'd be it. Or, if her plot was discovered, she imagined that she'd get a bullet to the head, and equally quick death. But this...this was terrible.

She couldn't see clearly, her vision hadn't been much more than distinction between light and shadow, and even that much made her dizzy, and she didn't have the strength to move much more than her eye lids or twitch a few fingers.

Oh, it _hurt._

And it was taking too long. Even though Talia was drifting in and out and in of consciousness, she knew something was wrong. The bomb should have gone off by now, she and all of those contemptible rebels and that _Batman_ and every single one of those miserable wretches in Gotham should all be _dead._ Had he beaten her, had some ace up his sleeve? No, no...maybe? No, that was ridiculous. Almost as ridiculous as bleeding to death, unable to feel your legs.

If she'd had the strength, she would have spat every one of the foul curses she had learned ever since she had been in the Pit. She also might have puked.

Talia felt hands on her, brushing her arms, tugging at her waist. Hands of the dead, trying to drag her down to whatever torment was for failures like her? She'd heard of a lot of after worlds in her life, mixed together into one giant inconsistent creature. Sometimes it was kind, promising all sorts of blessed resting places for the departed, regardless of their sins while others were eternal torture, the people you had wronged all gathering together to torture you over and over and over and pump you full of hope only to destroy it until your soul eventually tore apart. Talia wasn't especially afraid of that option, at least it would take her mind off things, but she prayed that she wouldn't have to face her father. She didn't care about anyone else, but if he stood before her with that hard look she had seen so often as he told her that he was disappointed in her...Talia didn't know if she'd be able to manage it.

_Please, let it be anyone but him,_ she thought weakly before drifting out of consciousness once again.

* * *

When she woke up, she still hurt (now this was just becoming irritating). Her arms, her legs, her _stomach,_ that felt worse than hellfire. It felt like someone had ripped out a light pole and shoved it through her abdomen. The world was hazy when she tried peeking down to see if there was a gaping hole where her intestines should have been, and incredibly blinding. It reminded her of the first time she had been outside, standing on the edge of the Pit, choking on shock and sunlight and the snatch of Bane's face as he'd said goodbye.

She'd never forgotten that face. It had been so beautiful, though she hadn't realized it until years later.

_Bane._

The name made her jerk, which sent agony throughout her limbs. Talia gave a pathetic groan, hurting so much she thought she'd lose her mind. Had it been like this for Bane? How had he stood it? She could barely tilt her head she was so incapacitated, and yet he had run around leading mercenaries and orchestrating revolts and fighting people with such an elegance it took her breath away.

More hands brushed at her, this time on her arms and face. Someone was speaking, the words not making any sense. A few seconds later, ice slipped through her veins and Talia stopped hurting quite so much.

* * *

The voice was back, and Talia could actually understand it.

"...that's right, dear, let's just get those eyes open..."

The indignity of being treated like a child made her want to break this person's arm (she hadn't even liked condescension when she had been young), but since she had all the control of toddler, she supposed she could stuff away her pride.

Obeying the voice, she opened one eye, then the next. It was white, all around. What kind of place was this? Had there been some gross mistake and she'd ended up in the Christian heaven? Talia may have felt utterly justified in her actions against Gotham, but she had never been so foolish as to convince herself that she wasn't going to be punished for the chaos she'd caused. She'd just not cared, then.

"That's it! Alright, easy now, don't want to strain yourself just yet...do you think you can take a sip of water?"

She searched for the person speaking to her, eyes not wanting to focus. Talia's gaze landed on a middle aged woman, clad only in white. When she looked away, she noticed the tube connected to her arm.

Not Heaven, then. Just a hospital.

A cup was raised to her lips, and she reluctantly took a sip, not liking the feeling of opening her mouth. Clearly it had been closed for a long time.

"That's good!" the woman cooed, and Talia wanted to lash out and break her nose. Her next words made Talia freeze, however.

"Do you remember what happened? Just nod if you do."

The memory of being numb and cold and hot and _pain_ stabbed through Talia, and she hissed in a breath. The vague image of Bruce Wayne (_damn_ that man!) parading around as a ridiculous superhero came to mind, and then the dashboard and shattered glass and so much _blood_, though she wanted to say that came later.

Talia's nod was tiny, like if she barely acknowledged the past it would make it less true. She'd failed. She had _failed,_ just when things were so ready to succeed.

"Well, that's good, I suppose. It saves some time. You, er, Miss Tate, are being held here until you are healed. Afterwards...well, one thing at a time."

"Al Ghul," she croaked, the first words in who knew how long. They sounded how she felt. Rough and ugly and not worth listening to.

"Do what?"

"Al Ghul," she repeated, voice a little bit stronger. "Not Tate. Talia al Ghul."

Talia closed her eyes after that, not wanting to listen to this idiotic woman, not wanting to be there at all. She didn't know what she wanted anymore. Everything had failed, presumably Bruce Wayne was alive, and Bane was...

Admittedly, that brought her up short. Where _was_ Bane? Dead, alive, in a similar position as herself?

That thought was unbearable.

* * *

Time went by in ways she didn't understand. A few minutes dragged by like hours, if the nurse was to be trusted, and then days went like seconds. But then, clearly the woman wasn't all there if she thought it was alright to refer to Talia al Ghul, daughter of the deceased leader of the League of Shadows, assassin, tactician and the person that had nearly _destroyed_ Gotham as 'sweetie'.

It was humiliating, having her hair brushed back from her face and get her pillows fluffed by the woman who chattered all the time, telling Talia about stupid, inconsequential things and treating her like a sick grandchild.

If Talia imagined one of Bane's sharp, sardonic comments, things were a little bit easier. _It would not be wise to continue on like that. She might bite off a finger next time you pat her face._ She could just see his expression as he said it, mask covering most of his face but his eyes make up for it, brows arched in such a way as to make her laugh.

(_God, please let him be alive. Please, please, just give him back to me.)_

When Talia managed to humble herself just a little and stop acting like she was merely _choosing_ to lay there in that hospital bed, stopped pretended she wasn't so weak as to be unable to do more than pick up a glass, she admitted how she really felt. It was kind of nice, she supposed, having someone take care of her like she was just some other poor soul, injured from the latest frenzy. She didn't remember when she'd been just some anything.

* * *

Eventually, she found out where she was. It wasn't just some hospital as she'd originally thought, no, this was Arkham Asylum. Talia had laughed when she'd heard that, she hadn't been able to help herself. To think she was now locked in the place that, only months ago, she and Bane had unanimously decided to keep out of their plans altogether. The criminal geniuses and lunatics that were all crammed in this place were definitely not something either one of them wanted to ruin things. It also gave her something to wonder over. Was she now considered insane? Talia supposed that most people considered creating this grandiose plan to not only insult and break the Batman, but also destroy the thing he loved most dearly to be insane, not to mention the fact that she'd wanted to blow herself up in the process.

That hadn't been insanity, though. That had been mere planning. If she had created an escape for herself, others could have used it as well, and that was not something she could ever allow.

Regardless, the moment Talia was strong enough to walk around the room she was sedated and fitted with a straight jacket. She'd been conscious through the entire process, just able to shoot a filthy look at one of them men strapping her in. He'd shrugged like this was a mild inconvenience she would simply have to live with for the moment.

"Sorry, Miss. We've dealt with your type before. Big on honor and that sort of thing, so when your plan falls to pieces you try to kill yourself at the first opportunity."

She couldn't really despise him for that. It had been true, or mostly so. Only the thought (who was she kidding, it was her most desperate hope) of seeing Bane one more time kept her from slitting her wrists or hanging herself the moment she was alone.

_The moment I am actually confronted with intelligent ordinary individuals is the moment I have the least use for them,_ she thought to herself after they had left, the words coming slowly. A part of her wished she had someone, Bane, her father, one of her fellows from the League, anyone, really, to laugh over it with. No matter how black, laughter and company soothed the soul.

And she had to admit, both she and her soul could use some soothing.

* * *

"Where's Bane?"

The older woman taking care of her froze in her magazine flipping (it was one of her favorite past times to read aloud to Talia. Today, it was from a magazine on home improvement), expression shocked. She glanced up at Talia, expression unsure.

"I...can't tell you. You're not really supposed to ask about other patients, honey."

Talia didn't break her gaze. It was a trick she'd learned from her father himself. When you really wanted to get an answer from a reluctant source, ask with no inflection at all, make it seem like it means nothing. But don't look away, don't break eye contact. If you have to blink, do it slowly, lazily, like you are the sole person in charge and the other person will deeply regret not giving you what you ask for.

The woman shifted under Talia's blue gaze, looking away. What did she see in Talia's eyes? A deadness that would never lift? What she thought to be insanity? The iron will of a woman with absolutely nothing left?

Talia paused, then switched tact ever so slightly.

"Just tell me whether or not he is alive. Please."

The nurse sat in hesitation for a moment, wanting to help Talia feel better, but not wanting to incite her to do something dangerous, such as break out to find him.

"He's alive," she said after a long while and Talia had been almost convinced she'd say he was dead. "I don't know where they're keeping him, but he is alive."

She nodded, relief sinking into her chest, a weight that kept her grounded. He was alive. Her blessed, blessed companion, devious cohort and doubtless savior, he was _alive._

Another thought hit her, a pipe smashing against her ribcage.

"Does he have his mask," she asked, voice breaking. The memory of him without it, body stiff, breaths jittery and shallow, every vein in his neck sticking out as he lived through horrid agony, it all made her feel sick. Were these people torturing him for what he'd done? She had no doubt that the police force or the civilians would have, they were still the savages of Gotham, always would be, but what about the doctors? She'd seen quite a few of them by now, and all of them had been quiet and helpful, seeming to really want to help her. Could that decency have been extended to what they most likely viewed as a monster?

The nurse shook her head, though whether it meant she didn't know or couldn't tell Talia, she had no idea.

Talia nodded, looking away, examining the white ceiling like she hadn't stared at it for hours on end. That was it, that was the end of her inquiries for Bane. If she asked anymore, they would figure out that she cared for him. As it was, though, they'd assume she was merely asking about loose ends. If she let them believe she actually cared, though, then who knew what they'd do to him to get information out of her, possibly on any more terrorist organizations or the like. Maybe they'd kill him just to punish her.

She closed her eyes for a second, cobbling together a prayer that spanned religions and languages. She hadn't prayed in years, but the thought of him going through that horror, alone with no hope like he'd done in the Pit...that was terrible.

_Our Father that art in heaven, mercy be, blessed be. Save that which is lost, heal that which is broken, let grace fall upon the sinners._

Would it work even though she was undoubtedly destined for some variation of Hell?

_If it be thy will, spare Bane this agony. Let it fall upon my head, to purify and renew._

She didn't know, and it made her sick. Of all the things that Talia hated (and that was quite a lot), not knowing the answers was the worst.

_Please...let Bane live._

_**AN There will be a lot of concepts and themes in this story, as I feel that Talia, after having her life's work utterly destroyed before her eyes, would have a bit of an identity crises. She doesn't really know what she's doing anymore, or what she's going to do now that the game is won. Her spirit is somewhat broken, and she has to reconcile with that she's done.**__  
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_**Review and tell me what you think.  
**_


	2. it's about knowing the people

_**AN I am just so excited for this story, I can't even tell you guys. Your wonderful response has made me even more excited, haha. This chapter was fun to write, though I'm a little worried about keeping the same tone that the first chapter had. I really liked it, how guarded and controlled Talia was, but I think her outlook might change during all of this. **_

_**Also, music! There are some songs that I think relate closely to the story, and when they come up, you should all listen to them :)**_

* * *

_If you can be good you'll live forever _  
_ If you're bad, you'll die when you die _  
_ Hearing only one true note _  
_ I'm the one and only sound _  
_ Unzip my body, take my heart out_

"Ramalama (Bang Bang)" - Roisin Murphy

* * *

She was getting pretty sick of all that white. It was all over, covering her walls and ceiling and floor. Even her clothes were entirely white, as though if Talia was bathed in white, some of her sins might be purged.

It drove her crazy, living in a world of only whites and the faintest gray of shadows. She longed for the dark, muted colors of the city, where she had at least understood everything. Shadows gave definition to the world, that was something she lived by. After all, the shadows _made_ her world.

The only things that broke up all of the white was the metal of her bed frame and the nurse that came in to take care of her every day (who was also clad in white). The old woman would come in and help Talia eat, brush her hair or just speak with her, always on time, always cheerful. It confused Talia to no end.

She really had no idea how to deal with this woman. Sometimes she'd be polite like she had been while forced to adopt the Miranda Tate persona. Talia would thank her for petty favors and make small talk some days, while others she would lash out, berating the woman and being generally horrible to her. No matter what she did, though, the woman would shake her head with a little smile on her face, as if saying she knew Talia hurt and was willing to treat her kindly until she healed.

This made Talia want to spit. Like this old woman knew what it meant to _suffer._

Despite her confusion, Talia knew that this unpredictable treatment of the nurse wasn't doing her any favors (which was odd for her. Talia had been so minimalistic when it came to _everything_, using and feeling only what she needed to to get the plans done. Now, with no plans or true motives, she was left with this..._excess,_ and had no idea what to do with it) and, if anything, was leading all of her doctors to believe she was bipolar, or suffered from schizophrenia at worst. She didn't care, though. They would lock her up anyways, or just hand her over to the police, who would kill her first chance they got. That thought didn't really bother her, either. Talia didn't have anything left in this world to live for.

Except for Bane.

A thousand times a day he would break through her thoughts, and a thousand times a day she would think _No, no, not again. I don't care about you because I'll never be able to see you again, and this is going to kill me._

It never really worked, though.

Talia wondered if she had felt this pain when she'd first escaped the Pit as a naive little girl, with the image and sounds of Bane being attacked below fresh in her head (it didn't really help that the sounds of his beating was drifting up to her from below). She remembered so little of what she'd felt back then, probably from having suppressed it all to survive the long months that followed. Still, she hadn't thought that she would never see him again. Talia had always believed that she would go back and find him, save him like he had done for her. Now that wasn't even a possibility.

* * *

Talia finally asked the woman why she weathered all of Talia's abuse (it was either that or ask what her name was. This seemed much less personal). Her smile had been small and gentle when she answered.

"My daughter was very similar to you," she began, and Talia scoffed internally. Of _course_ she had a daughter that was very similar to Talia. It would have been odd if she hadn't. "She had everything in life, a job, a house, people she could rely on, but she hurt everyone she could. Insulted friends, abused family, split apart relationship and the like, for no apparent reason."

Talia rolled her eyes, about ready to tell this woman that she had better leave the parables to Jesus, when her next words came.

"And so, when I finally asked my little girl why she did this, why she hurt so many people, she laughed. She said 'I hurt _so much._ And if people can't sympathize with me, they might as well empathize. She died in all of that chaos in the beginning, right after your friend took over, so I never got to ask her what was hurting her so much. Now, when I see you acting the same way, I know that you're hurting too. I just have to wait and listen to see if I can figure out what's causing it."

The old woman looked up from her lap, which she had been looking at since Talia asked her question. Her eyes were a light grey, and held only truth and kindness, which rather disarmed Talia. She looked away, pretending to not care about the story, but hearing the same line echo over and over in her head.

_After your friend took over..._

Did that mean this old woman had figured out Bane was the only other person in the world Talia cared about? Was she going to use this knowledge against her? If she did, if she gave this little bit of truth to the doctors...would they torture Bane and make her watch?

Talia closed her eyes, wishing she could stop thinking.

* * *

The woman looked so surprised when Talia asked to have her hair cut off.

"Are you sure?" were the first words out of her mouth, not "You know you can't have scissors in here," or "That's nice. Why not go back to your sliced pears?", and that actually surprised her. Talia nodded, mouth set.

"Get rid of it. I don't want it anymore."

The woman bit her lip, thinking.

"Are you sure?" she repeated after a moment, like this was something important. "I think it's rather pretty, if we just pull it back into a braid or something, it'd be out of your way..."

Talia gave the nurse a long, flat look, forcing her to really look at Talia and realize the ridiculousness of this statement. There Talia was, sitting with her hair in some sort of snarled mess, and not wearing any makeup and with all of the tiredness and leaving the flaws of her face open for the world to see. Not to mention the fact that she was wearing a straight jacket and the unflattering white pants of an insane asylum, with her abdomen bandaged from having been stabbed through the stomach with a piece of pipe. How she looked was _not_ something she was especially worried about.

The nurse quickly realized her mistake.

"I was just thinking...they're going to want to take some pictures of you, as a sort of before and after. You might...want to keep your hair a little while longer."

Talia could only imagine what that meant.

* * *

She found out soon enough. Talia was lead out of her room, head held high as the doctors hooked a _leash_ to the front of her straight jacket, guiding her out. She didn't say a word as doctors and nurses walked about her, not sparing her a second glance as they hurried to their respective patients. When she heard the various screams and thuds of things being thrown around and the unbalanced cackling, she knew why. Who was going to waste time on a well behaved, if proud, patient when there were much more verbal lunatics to be taken care of? Talia felt her heart pump when she thought that, maybe, Bane was behind one of those doors.

_(Please, don't let that be true.)_

As she was lead through the halls, Talia kept her eyes open for any signs of an exit, and her eyes alert for any hint of something useful. By the time she'd been placed in another room, however, she had found nothing.

"Sit down, please," one of the men leading her said, pointing to a plain wooden chair in the center of the room. She gave him a long look before going to sit down.

"You can answer the questions, if you like," he said. The door shut shortly after, and she surveyed the room, noting the large window that took up most of one wall. The other side of it was covered with a large white curtain, which shifted a little, as if there was something moving behind it. Talia frowned, a feeling of trepidation growing inside her.

The curtain was suddenly yanked back, revealing a horde of reporters. She stiffened, seeing the disgustingly eager expressions lit up unpleasantly by the flash of cameras. Talia straightened, giving her best look of haughty condescension. These people were so ready to snatch every picture they could, wanting to rush back to their offices and write the best article on the socialite fallen from grace (but what did she care? Odds were that Talia wouldn't ever get the chance to feel the backlash of these rags).

A speaker chattered to life, sending their noise through as they shouted questions and comments at her. She flinched (something that earned about a dozen photographs), pressing her lips together when she began to decipher all the words they were saying.

"_Miss Tate, Miss Tate,_ how do you feel at being locked in here? Would you prefer a cell?"

"Are you truly the mastermind of Bane's whole plot? Are the famed and fortuned merely smearing your name?"

"_What's your relationship with Bane?"_

Talia swallowed, recalling the long, long nights spent in the Pit, Bane wrapped protectively around her, how he had whispered to her before going to sleep, because she had hated listening to the sounds of the other prisoners wailing and shouts of brutality. He had gone hoarse once, but had just smiled when Talia had frowned in worry. _Anything for you, Talia,_ that smile seemed to say, and when she had told him that she wanted to make Batman pay for what he'd done to her father, that same smile had shown up in his eyes.

_Anything for you, Talia. Anything you want._

She blinked, stayed quiet and didn't let any of her thoughts reach her face. Let them say whatever they wanted about her, she didn't care. Her life as Miranda Tate was over, that was sure.

The noise swelled as the reporters became more desperate, trying to make her speak before their time was up. Talia stared through them, wishing there was something to drown out the noise. Some beautiful, clear note that would sound through her bones and make her forget.

When the reporters left fifteen minutes later, she still hadn't said a word. She had been too absorbed in trying to figure out what on earth it was she was feeling.

* * *

"There, your hair's cut. Do you like it?"

Talia examined her face in the mirror, trying to ignore the bags under her eyes and focus only on her hair. It was short, cut off to her chin. Short, practical, easy to take care of (and just about only damn thing she had any control of anymore).

It reminded her of her League days, when everything made so much sense.

"It'll work," she said, looking away because she didn't want to see what it looked like when sadness crossed her face. She not only missed those simpler times, but she also missed the easiness she had with Bane back then. Things had grown complicated after he had been forced out of the League, and when she'd finally seen him again...Talia hadn't known whether to laugh or start sobbing.

He'd seemed totally unchanged, eyes narrowing slightly as if he couldn't really believe what was standing in front of him. She guessed he was smirking from the way his eyes crinkled, straining to hear what he said with that metal voice.

"Your hair is longer. You don't look like a little girl anymore."

Did she look like a little girl again? Would that help her when she was finally put on trial?

The twinge of pain in her stomach told her that it would be a while before that happened, and anything could change her fate by then.

* * *

The next day, Talia was introduced to her new doctor. He was a tall man around her age, with brown hair and dark grey eyes. He sat down in the chair the nurse usually occupied, a slight smile on his face.

"Alright...Miss Tate, or Al Ghul, as I'm informed, it's good to meet you. I'm Doctor Gale, and am to be replacing Doctor Bertrand-" Talia vaguely recalled a middle aged man with no hair hovering over her while she had been in a drug like haze "-as your head doctor. From now on, you'll be seeing quite a bit of me. I take a more _hands on approach,_ speaking with patients and making an on-scene analysis."

She pursed her lips. He sounded like a corrupt scumbag, willing to take advantage of his unbalanced patients.

_I wish you had been one of the ones to be executed,_ she thought sourly, thinking that this was truly perfect irony, to be in the hands of the very type of person she hated.

He seemed to read her thoughts, as he smiled, shrugged.

"Think what you will, but I'm only here to talk. Anything involving your body will be done by Mrs. Gables." Was that the name of the middle aged nurse?

"And what would you like to talk about?" she asked mockingly, hoping he didn't miss the disdain written all over her.

"Just you. First off, just in case you're feeling like making my life a little easier, is there anything you want to talk about?"

Talia looked at him flatly, shaking her head scornfully.

"Alright, I expected that, but whatever. So...you were found in a very incriminating scene, Miss Al Ghul." Talia did her best to shrug under the straight jacket, interested as to what these people had surmised. "In the car that reportedly carried the bomb, with the trigger on your person. What happened? How did you end up there?"

"How did I end up in the front seat of a truck that dropped off the highway from over a story, or how did I end up in that mental state to seemingly conspire with a mass terrorist?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. Gale's smile was slight when he nodded.

"Whichever. I'll just keep asking questions and surmising what I think is the truth, affecting my report to the police which will directly affect your sentencing."

"So you've all decided I am guilty?" she asked, a terrible smile on her lips.

"That's more or less correct, yes. I think you gathered from that little press conference you were forced to attend that the public and the police are committed in a sentencing, regardless of the truth. I'm just trying to make it as reasonable as possible under the circumstances."

"You don't think I am guilty, then?"

Gale's smile turned a little questioning as he said "You sure seem determined to make me question my opinion on everything." He glanced down at the notebook he had in hand, writing something down.

"I am merely trying to get the facts, Doctor," she said innocently. "Aren't you supposed to do that by asking questions?"

"Yes, I suppose. Since I can see this isn't going anywhere fast, let's compromise. Two of my questions for one of yours."

Talia scowled at him. That hardly seemed fair. Before there hadn't been a limit on either of their questions, and that was something she preferred. Gale shrugged, clipboard and pen held up in the air as he did so.

"What can I say? This _is_ kind of my job, and I have to show something for it. So, back to my original question - how did you end up there? Interpret that however you like."

"Well, Doctor, I got into the truck and it went haywire. Sometime to do with the Batman shooting at me from the sky."

Gale raised his eyebrows, then wrote some more on his pad.

"Alright...Now, what caused you to work with Bane? Did he force you? Did you feel obligated? Did you want to in the first place?"

"Those are quite a few questions, Doctor."

"Subquestions," he smiled, and she pursed her lips. They sat in silence for a while, Talia rather hoping that he would take her silence as an answer and leave her alone.

"...I heard that you were forcibly taken by Bane when Chief Commissioner Gordon and his allies were put on trial. Did that have something do to with it?"

Talia thought about what he probably assumed had happened. How he probably thought Bane had whispered terrible, terrible lies into her mind, making her hate Gotham and agree with his lunatic plan, or even worse, callously raped her because that was the sort of monster everyone thought him to be. Just thinking that made her feel sick. Bane was, for all intents and purposes, a gentleman. The most important thing to remember about him, in her opinion, was that while he may have been uncivil, he was certainly no savage.

And then she recalled what that night had really been like, when they had sat together, alone in a beautiful penthouse, gazing over snowy Gotham. They hadn't said much, because there wasn't much _to_ say. They were going to kill themselves tomorrow, there had been no doubt. So Talia had just sat there, him mere inches away, one hand set lightly on his.

Was she allowed to say that she longed to go back to that night so much that it hurt?

"I don't know," she whispered, finally turning to look away from the doctor.

* * *

Talia lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling. It had taken some doing, to maneuver herself over to the middle of her floor and lay down without the use of her arms, but she had managed it in the end. Talia also noticed that her stomach hurt less when she was laying down, and simply hadn't been able to remain on the bed any longer. By now the pain that had driven her to distraction had dulled into...less, the ache of healing wound. It was something she may not have felt in a while, but reminded her of her days in the League. Happy days.

The image of her father popped back into Talia's head. She scowled at the ceiling, remembering yet again how she had failed him. But then, she supposed she had been arrogant to think that she could have done something that he himself hadn't even managed. Those who wished to destroy Gotham, it seemed, were cursed.

_To think, the city is so terrible that you can't even try to get rid of it without the darkness overwhelming you,_ she thought vaguely, a black smile on her face.

She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander. Eventually, she settled on Doctor Gale. He was a strange one, to say the least. He seemed absolutely cheerful in his work, even though he was taking care of murderous lunatics. How could he look at her so easily, ask such personal questions? The man _must_ have had loved ones in the city that had been hurt (even she had had Bane, and she had so often considered herself alone), and yet when he was faced with a woman that clearly had _some_ serious involvement with the group that had made his life hell for months on end...he just smiled.

Perhaps he was a sadist (or a sociopath, either worked, really). Gale certainly wouldn't have been the first case of a doctor misusing his ability to learn the troubles of his patients. Doctor Crane was a prime example of this, using people's fears as a perverted form of power. Fear at the thought of being looked after by Scarecrow's double pushed its way through her chest, making her breath catch.

Wouldn't that be just her luck, though? She had been punished in just about every other way imaginable, why not add this?

* * *

"Alright, Miss Al Ghul, how have your last two days been?" Gale asked, glancing over his clipboard. She shrugged, saying "It was nice, I suppose. A little tiresome, as yet again couldn't use my hands to even feed myself, but other then that I've been fine."

Gale flashed her a grin over his glances, shrugging himself.

"Sorry about that. You're still being judged on whether you are stable enough to not need the straight jacket. A couple more days and you should be free of it."

Talia waited for his next question, a routine they had settled into over the last two weeks or so (at least, he said it had been two weeks. Talia didn't have any idea as to the passage of time). He would come in, all smiles and friendly questions, and she reply back with a casual civility. He would then ask a few impersonal questions, how had she been, was she sleeping enough, did she enjoy what she'd had for dinner and the like, then slam home the punches.

Had she been in contact with Bane before he had kidnapped her? Had she known that the bomb had been in the truck she was in? Did she regret anything that she did? Why was she so easy with the thought of being executed?

Talia danced around the questions for the most, answering one truthfully on occasion, all the while watching him scribble on his little clipboard. She was dying to see his analysis of her, but refused to get up and look.

Her questions to him must have seemed scattered. They all followed various trains of thought she'd had in between his visits (after all, when there was nothing to do all day, all she could really do was fill the space with thought. It made Talia wonder if all of the greatest thinkers in the world had been locked away in mental institutions), trains that took her to escape, his history, what was going on with Bane and the state of the world outside. He answered them all truthfully, as far as she could tell, like he didn't mind sharing things with her.

When it came time for her to ask her question during her present session, Talia looked at him for a long time.

"Doctor, can I ask a favor of you?" she asked, and he shrugged after a moment.

"Maybe. Depends on what you want."

"Can you tear out my heart?" Talia asked, countenance not changing in the slightest. She couldn't let him see how much she needed to stop _feeling,_ how these emotions about Bane and her father and her utter failure and what she was supposed to do now were eating her alive. Doctor Gale raised his eyebrows, shocked.

"Eh...sorry, no, I don't think I'm actually qualified for that. Though I'm sure that one of the other patients would be more than happy to oblige if we gave them the chance." Talia's smile was small at his relaxed response.

"I see. In that case, could I ask that the temperature be a little higher during the day? I have a feeling that things will be quite a bit colder when I'm not forced to wear this extra layer," she said, tipping her head at the straight jacket. He broke into a smile, nodding.

"I'll see what I can do. Now...while I was gone, I did some research. On a number of things, including your name. Apparently, it was the title of a very impressive man that lead a very shady band of vigilantes. Were you aware of that?"

"Yes, Doctor," she said, smile patronizing. She knew where this was going, had actually been waiting for it the moment she had stopped pretending to be the pretty socialite she detested. Honestly, Talia had been surprised it had taken so long.

"Okay." Scribbles on his clipboard. "Was your choice of new name in tribute to this man, or because you actually share a bond?"

"I like to think we share a bond. If you did any proper research, you'd find out that this man has done a lot of good for the world."

"You realize that rumor says he also tried to destroy Gotham, just as you have? Back with that fear gas, or whatever it was."

Talia shrugged, smile tightening a little.

"He wasn't a man to let corruption stand in the world. It would make sense he would attack this city, if your rumors are to be trusted."

"Well, let's just be thankful you didn't follow his path exactly. You at least managed to survive."

"Yes, Doctor," she murmured. "Isn't that the miracle."

_**AN OH WOW I THINK I'M DROWNING IN THE ANGST. But that kind of comes with the territory :'D **_

_**Also, Belle de Sainte Ange pointed out that this story is rather similar to**_**Brother of Sleep._ So, of course I had to go check it out, and it's a really wonderful story! All of your should go read it :)_**

**_Review, tell me how you feel and the like. Can't wait to hear it all.  
_**


	3. feeling is quite the virus

_**AN Oh my goodness, long long wait! I feel so bad for having let this story sit for over two months, but I was just so absolutely blocked whenever I tried writing for this story. It's a little overwhelming at times, because everything about this story is so unstable. Whenever I try writing scenes where Talia's philosophizing, I have to check about a billion to make sure everything ties in and makes sense. But, I finally managed to write an especially long chapter, so please enjoy!**_

* * *

_Gravity is working against me  
And gravity wants to bring me down  
Oh, I'll never know what makes this man  
With all the love that his heart can stand  
Dream of ways to throw it all away_

- "Gravity", John Mayer_  
_

* * *

Thinking was tedious, but an absolutely necessary part of her life. Talia needed to keep her mind winding in those clunky, ungraceful laps or else she would break down entirely, and there would be nothing left of Talia al Ghul except for some pretty ideas that never were finished and a worn shell.

Every thought these days seemed to be something she had already worked through a thousand times before, but that was merely something she would have to deal with. The only interesting 'outside' pieces of news she received were from Doctor Gale, who delivered it all with the air of someone waiting for a particular reaction when dangling a toy in front of a dog. He may have smiled and been polite and willing to help her with anything within reason, but Talia could see through to that hard center that had allowed him to keep a job attending to the insane criminals of Gotham.

Still, Talia was thankful for anything she could get about the happenings of the world. Not only did they offer a tiny form of escape as something new to consider in her eternal cogitation, but also gave details to a plan, should one be necessary. Talia liked plans, she had lived with them for so long that she felt naked without them, ill prepared as though she were charging into battle with only her wits about her while the other side was fully armed.

Plans and strategies, her father had always said, were what got things done in the world. Not money, not might, not even influence and power. They were just rocks on a mountainside if you didn't have any idea as to what to do with them. He had taught her a lot of things, but Ra's had made sure that the ability to make those rocks into elegant fortresses was something Talia had perfected. It was a good idea in theory, but one that was so easily undermined by any amount of apathy.

Unfortunately, Talia had enough of that to the point where she didn't even care about breathing. Habit was what made her lungs contract and expand every second of the day.

* * *

"Easy there, miss," a woman said, carefully supporting Talia as she leaned her forward, a hand planted firmly on her shoulder. She had large green eyes and dirty blonde hair pulled into a messy bun, and a crinkle between her eyes when she concentrated, like now.

Talia was deadweight in the woman's hands, as she had been drugged about half an hour before. They were taking that damned straight jacket off of her, convinced that she wasn't about to go and slit her wrists at first opportunity. She had noticed right off when the sedative had been placed in her food (it tasted vaguely like dirt and indecision), but had continued eating nonetheless. Anything to get her out of that thing was good in her book. Aside from not having a plan, the thing Talia hated most was being bound against her will. The power to act had been stripped from her, something every human was entitled to.

The woman's hands were gentle and sure as she held onto Talia with one hand and worked on the jacket's straps with the other. She made small talk about pointless things, like how nice it would be for Talia to finally stretch her arms after such a long time of having them clamped to her chest.

Talia grunted vaguely, thinking only of how thin and weak her arms would look, how useless when she recalled how they had helped her climb and fight and hold the world in her palm. How they had let her fall, betrayed her by allowing that truck to fly off onto the lower level of highway and nearly kill her as Bruce Wayne had pursued her. A part of Talia reminded her that she had _decided_ to not change directions, but another part felt a little hurt that it had happened anyways. The instinct for survival should have kicked in, surely.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep, slow breath. These were new thoughts. New, strange and _emotional_ thoughts. Things like betrayal and confusion and a smothered hope weren't things she was familiar with, things she thought she had stamped out or at least nailed shut. Now they were breaking loose, pushing at her seams, eating at _who she was_ until she had a hard time recognizing herself. And each time they surfaced, bringing the ghost of tears and the urge to start _screaming,_ it became a little bit harder to push it all away.

And...each time this happened, she could just imagine her father peering down at her, lips pressed tight in that disappointed way of his because _she wasn't good enough, _because she was some illegitimate brat that had clawed her way out of the Pit and had yet to prove she was any better than some leech. She knew that if she turned to look at him, he would say something in that low, dark and incredibly wonderful voice of his, something utterly unfeeling and would tear her heart out like it had so often before. She never looked, but she wanted to (but then, she also knew that she would probably start crying again, and she would much rather scalp herself than cry in front of him, no matter what form Ra's al Ghul was in).

* * *

When she finally managed to regain the feeling in her arms, Talia ran her hands over her face and through her hair. It was nice to actually feel something other than the weave of the fabric that held her hostage, and she was about ready to take whatever pleasures she could.

She looked at her hands, examining scars she had forgotten about in the recent days as they had been hidden from sight. Some she couldn't even remember getting, from both her life as Talia al Ghul and Miranda Tate. The small line by the tip of her left index finger could have just as easily come from a lapse of attention in handling a kitchen knife as one for fighting.

It was rather curious, when she considered them. People often said that a person could be judged by their hands, and she believed that that was largely true, but at the same time, no one could truly tell how or where a tiny scar could come from. Talia's hands were no longer rough and dry, but were a lady's hands, smooth with manicured nails to accentuate their daintiness. Everyone who had seen them merely assumed that she was rather clumsy with her hands, or enjoyed rather extreme hobbies, like rock climbing (which was a complete lie. Revenge via murdering an entire city was a little more than what Talia considered to be a 'hobby'). No one ever had nor ever could guess that once, she had been a poor child that had had to beg and claw and steal for every moment of life she had.

Tentatively, she lowered her hands to her shirt. A sudden thought had crossed her, something that she had to know, for some dark, twisted reason. She raised the hem, peering at the bandages that encased her stomach.

With gentle fingers, she touched the middle of it, then winced as the dull, forgettable pain heightened for a moment. Again, for about the thousandth time, she cursed Bruce Wayne for causing all of this. If he had just left things alone, had been just a little _less_ hell-bent on saving his wretched city, then they would all have been dead and safe from pain.

(But then, the same could have been said for her and Bane.)

How _had_ he managed to escape Bane, anyways? How had he managed to pull himself out and hunt her down? What had he done to Bane, damaged his mask yet again? The likelihood of that having happened to Bane _twice _in so short a period of time wasn't high, but the image of him, hunched over and unable to move snapped into her head, his vocal cords paralyzed with pain that could easily drive him mad.

Talia pushed roughly on her stomach wound, something that made her gasp and wince from the sudden spike in pain. She needed those thoughts _out _of her head, or else she would be the one driven insane, because she had failed and let all of this happen.

_I had hoped never again to consider death as the best alternative,_ she thought to herself, wanting to gag on the pain. _And yet, here I am. But killing myself is also something I will fail at, I think._

What a miserable thought.

* * *

"Ah, straight jacket off. A good improvement, don't you think?" Gale smiled at her as he sat down, earning nothing but an impassive look from Talia. He adjusted his clipboard for a moment, giving her a moment to think of a question before he started in with one of his own. "That doesn't count as one of my two, by the way."

Talia gave him a thin smile, keeping her mouth shut (no reason to waste her words on something that didn't matter. It was rather strange. Miranda Tate had lived off of small talk and little jabs here and there in the form of light questions and compliments. Talia al Ghul, on the other hand, hated it). Gale smiled back, though he looked genuine.

"Okay...so, back to an earlier topic. Miss al Ghul, do you even want to be here?"

She looked at him, confused. Talia couldn't recall ever having broached this particular subject with him, and there was almost no chance he had misremembered, between his irritatingly reliable memory and the endless amount of notes he scribbled on his clipboard.

"I mentioned it...a week and a half ago," he said, flipping back through his papers as if he read her mind, "and asked what you thought about your punishment, and if it was proper. You said that you thought you had done nothing wrong, and then I asked if that meant you believed in what Bane's plan was. You, surprisingly enough, did not answer the question, again. So, I repeat, do you even want to be here, in Arkham?"

"No," she said, not even bothering with the usual mind games of waiting and dancing around the matter. The sameness and white and tedium that accompanied her guaranteed a swift response. "I would much rather be out in the open air."

"...Interesting," he said, taking a moment to write something down. "Is that because you think that you are innocent of the crimes that are laid at your feet, or because you simply dislike being imprisoned?"

"Please tell me what these crimes are, exactly," she said, raising an eyebrow. "From what I had heard, they have nothing so far."

"Mm, yes, officially, that's true. A wealthy, well liked philanthropist that didn't skim a bit off her donations to charities all over the world, you certainly had a number of fans. Especially when you were somehow taken and forced to do the will of a rather terrible terrorist, it is a little difficult to level reasonable crimes against someone with your background."

"And yet they are still calling for me to serve a very long time in jail," she reminded him. Gale smiled, a little sadly.

"Yes. But we aren't talking about them, Miss al Ghul, we're talking about you. Please answer the question."

She sighed through her nose, and shot him a look. What good were these questions in the long run? What did they prove, why did he bother? There was such a large, confusing web around Talia and the different semantics behind her motives that she could hardly understand it all herself sometimes (and she certainly had tried, with all of this disgusting free time she had).

"I cannot say whether I view myself guilty of crimes, when no one has accused me of anything."

"Officially," he reminded. "But I take your point. Altering my question, then, to 'what crimes do you think you are guilty of', and so on."

"Very well, Doctor. I suppose that I would be guilty of conspiracy, and murder or at least man slaughter. If I had not agreed to drive that truck, then Bane's plans would have fallen through and fewer people would have died."

"You agreed to drive the truck, is that what I'm hearing?"

"That's three questions, Doctor."

"Taking one from my next turn. Go on."

"Yes, I agreed to drive the truck," Talia sighed, considering the weight of her words. She sounded tired, even to herself. But not obedient, not so worn down as to keep from giving a bit of a fight. She was sick of dancing around the truth, or at least, this part of it. The question of 'what did it matter?' kept coming back to her. If she was going to spend what was presumably the rest of her life in jail, why should she continue lying? Why not lay claim to her legacy, to her plan, to all that she had done? Why not admit who she really was?

"No matter what you threaten, you cannot _make_ a person do something. They are the ones in control of their bodies, who choose to move or act. You merely provide the proper incentive."

(Oh, yes, lay claim to her broken legacy and failed plan. Perhaps it was the shame of defeat that kept Talia from telling the truth more than anything.)

"...What was Bane's incentive for you?"

Gale's voice was low and quiet, like he didn't want to say the words or even consider the possibility, but that he had to, for some bizarre, perverse reason. Talia looked at him a moment, studied the worn, tired eyes behind the glasses, the dark grey looking washed and faded like he had seen too much, heard too much, but could never stop (Talia knew what this was like. She had looked into the mirror the day she had heard Bane had been excommunicated from the League, and thought they were the eyes of a person who just wanted to rest for eternity).

Seeing that look in him was probably what made her look away, a choked feeling in her throat.

"You don't have to go into detail," he said gently. Gale sounded like he actually wanted to help Talia, to listen to what she had to say and to soothe her ragged soul. And for a moment...Talia thought she actually believed him. For a moment, she considered saying that there was none, Bane hadn't threatened to do anything, but had really just been following her orders because—

The feeling was frozen in her chest as she considered Bane. He was the only one that truly wanted to help her, to heal her wounds. Her father hadn't cared, he'd only been looking for an heir and a vague memory of her mother, and the people in the League had tiptoed around her, treating her like a princess and only pretending to be her friend. Why should this man, this strange, inquisitive man, care about her and what she felt? Why would he care about her as a person, when there was nothing to gain from it?

The answer was short and terrible (and in all honesty, it hurt Talia to consider). He didn't care, she was just another patient to fill up his time and notebook to get him some more money and maybe even an accolade or two for cracking her secrets.

(Oh, how she _hated_ people. Selfish, greedy creatures that fed off of and lied to each other to get ahead. A more devastating, parasitic species she didn't know.)

Talia clenched her teeth, aware of the fact that he was watching her intently, searching for signs of something different, some crack in her armor. She realized that at she had taken hold of her foot at some point and begun gripping it so hard that her arm shook slightly. Talia forced herself to let go, take a deep breath.

"He threatened to attack the people," she lied softly, waiting for Gale to begin scribbling again. He didn't.

"After I was taken, he...told me that he needed someone in the truck. He knew that Chief Commissioner Gordon's men were still out there, trying to find the truck that held the bomb. If they found it, they were going to nullify it," she said. Her voice was shaking as if the memory of the whole thing was horrible to remember, as if she could barely stand thinking of Bane's voice, part growl, part mechanical whisper (his voice had been low and lovely, an echo of simpler times when he'd greeted her) as he so politely told her what her options were. Either she could do as he said, or have those whom she worked so hard to protect, the ill, the poor, the young, slaughtered before her (stay there and burn, or choose to opt out now, save herself and enjoy the knowledge that she had truly won). As if his hard dark eyes had that looked down at her like she was nothing, like she was something that could so easily be smudged out (eyes that had looked sad, even though he knew that it would only make her angry, would only make her more dead set on her plan) if she refused to do as he so generously asked (he hadn't said anything to her after that, but she had spent long enough with him to know when he was silently pleading with her in his head).

"He thought...that if I were there, they would be less likely to attack the person in the cab. Bane told me, that if the man driving the truck was unable to continue...I was supposed to take up the wheel and keep it moving, no matter what."

"If that was the case, then why-"

"Do you plan on taking three turn's worth of questions, Doctor?" she asked, the tremor out of her voice, the false fear in her eyes replaced with something harder, something a little more brittle. The sadness was still there, though.

"Ah, no, thank you for catching me. But…I'm afraid," he said, glancing down at his watch, "that our time together is up. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Miss al Ghul. Very informative."

It was very strange, Talia thought after he left. For a person who made a point of always telling the truth to her, he had a terrible habit of lying with his eyes.

* * *

It had been several days since Talia had seen Gale, but her curiosity hadn't dimmed in the slightest.

"Whom did you lose?" she asked him the question having sat on her lips for what had felt like years. The compassion she had seen in his eyes the last time they had spoken had made her wonder and wonder and _wonder_, unable to puzzle it out. It spoke of just how well he understood the pain of explaining something horrible, like a traumatic experience or having someone he cared about die. What had happened specifically, though, and how had it affected him on a personal level?

He considered her for a moment, chewing his lip as if wondering if he wanted to answer. Gale had always made a point to answer each and every one of her questions plainly and immediately, as if to prove just how easy complete honesty was. Talia wondered if he would finally take the option of staying silent like she so often had.

"I...lost my mother and sister in October, during all of the chaos on Gotham. That was when all of the people were rioting, before they decided to slink back to the shadows. They were living together, my mother was sick and my sister had been considering her options when Bane took over. They had the fortune of being moderately wealthy, and, of course, the people didn't like that. So their apartment was broken into, and torn apart, and they...died. Sick, isn't it? Bane 'gave the people the power to take back the city', but it completely fell apart. If someone had something you wanted, you could go in and take it from them, could go kill them for it. I mean, you saw it, is that why - excuse me, I almost asked you another question. I'll just, uh, tuck that one away, shall I?"

Talia a little surprised. In all of the time she had known Doctor Gale, he had been complete control, much like herself. Only, where Talia had been bored and sometimes going for shock factor, he had been casual and friendly, not really changing do matte what she said. He now looked a little sheepish at having let so much slip out, an uncertain smile on his lips as he adjusted some of a his papers.

She frowned, recalling her initial thoughts on him. Talia had guessed that Gale had had someone important in the city when it all went to hell, but for some reason, she had never assigned any emotion to the repercussions of such a thing, had never thought that he might be still hurting having lost them. Hearing the sorrow in his voice at having had his mother and sister brutally killed over such a trivial thing as _money_, it suddenly made him seem human (it also made Talia forget how much she hated being human for the moment, and think instead at how curiously compassionate people were).

It was a moment before Talia asked her next question, though whether it was so she could assemble her thoughts or so Gale could, she wasn't sure.

"Why do you do this?"

Gale looked a little surprised at the question, tilting his head in confusion.

"Why do you work at the asylum? It must be disturbing to you, to hear and see the things they do. What could you _possibly_ get from overseeing a band of horrendous lunatics?" She stared at him for a moment, utterly unable to figure him out in that second. Gale blinked, then broke into a sad smile. Talia pressed her lips together, confusion (she swore to herself it wasn't concern) being quelled at how _pitying_ his look was. What was so funny, what was so obvious that it was strange for her to miss it? Why was he looking down on her?

"I work here because I want to see what can make people better."

Talia scoffed, turning her head away and making a face. Gale let out a little laugh, more sigh than anything, then continued.

"I know that the people in here aren't about to be converted from their sinner ways, I'm not some bright eyed optimist, but I can't help but think...if I can understand why they do something, what leads them to commit crimes and not feel bad about it, if I might be able to offer some sort of catharsis, then I might be able to do some good for other, less troubled people."

"Doctor, you say you're not a bright eyed optimist, but that's the absolute truth." Talia was aware of how hard her voice was, knew that the look in her eyes was of ice and daggers, but she really didn't care. Anger was starting to lap at her chest, because this man, despite _everything,_ had begun to make her care. So what if his family had been killed wrongly because of her, so what if he really did appear to want the best for her? In the end, he was just some cold hearted doctor that made a living off of watching people be insane.

"You don't understand these people in the slightest, and you've been observing them for how long? With people like this, there is no redeemable _motive,_ nothing to _heal_ to make them better. They do evil because they can, because they feel like it and because it's what they believe is right. Nothing less should ever be expected from the monsters of Gotham."

"Why is it," he began, head tilted questioningly, "that someone who spent so much of her time, effort and energy in helping people is so convinced that the place she lives in is the pit of evil?"

"I don't think it's the pit," she said darkly, fighting to keep her voice from a snap (no matter what, her birthplace would always take that title). "I merely think that there is only so much money and hope and kindness you can pour into a place before it consumes you _whole._"

Gale watched her for a moment, weighing what she had said. She wasn't looking at him, was far too interested in the blasted white wall of her room, her prison, her cage. Talia did hear him flip through his notes for a moment, write something down. Someday she would ask him what on earth it was he was writing in there, what his analysis of her was.

* * *

"I Bane forced..._convinced_ you to get and then drive the truck, if you did that all of your own free will, why do you blame Batman for making you crash?"

Talia thought back to his question of how she had ended up in the truck in the first place. It was truly amazing how each question could circle back and coincide with another, but each receive drastically different responses.

"If you had been in my position, if you had been forced to drive the truck when the proper driver died, when you had to push aside his body because you just _knew_ Bane would find out if you failed to do your job, and you were thinking that there was no hope, wouldn't you want to see Gotham's savior fly in to your rescue? Wouldn't you begin to hate him if he began to _shoot_ at you, poisoning any ideas of being saved you had? Wouldn't you blame him for nearly being killed?"

The lie was so easy to say, fell so readily from her tongue. Perhaps it was the bit of Miranda Tate still inside her, finally managing to slip out, perhaps she just wanted to make this doctor feel terrible for having pushed her so far, so ruthlessly.

Gale looked at her a moment, then gave that sighing laugh yet again. She glared at him as he stood up, shaking his head.

"What?" she asked stiffly, hating the way he dismissed what she had just said.

"I suppose that if that happened, I would feel just as bitter as you do. Maybe feeling betrayed by Batman is what has made you so cynical towards people in general, I don't know. What I do know, though, is that what you just told me is a complete lie."

Talia stared at him, unsure. He sighed, glanced up at the ceiling as if for patience and then flipped back through the notebook on top of his clipboard.

"A month and a half ago you told me that the truck was already jerking out of our control, that you were bound to drive off of the road before he ever showed up, something to do with a dead body repeatedly knocking into you and you being too scared of stopping because you had a bomb in the back. A week ago, you said that you were trying to stop and get out because you saw no point in driving an empty truck when he began shooting at you. And then today, you were just following orders and the Batman decided to sacrifice your life, presumably for some unfathomable yet heroic reason."

"So what does that mean?" she asked, not asking what her words meant, but asking more about what he was going to do now. What was his next step, after catching and then confronting her about her lies. For the barest trace of a second, Gale seemed to get angry.

"It _means,_ Miss al Ghul, that you don't want me knowing the truth, for some reason. Each time you tell me something, you're scared or you're hurt or you're angry that I can ask such heartless questions when they are so clearly painful to you, and it sounds so, so true. Why is that? What is it about the truth that is so terrible for me to know? Is this some game to you, are you trying to just pass the time until you are ready to go to court and be sentenced to life in prison?"

He sounded desperate and tired, like he was sick of playing along, sick of not knowing what to believe.

"I don't want you to know," she said, speaking to her hands though her voice was hard as stone. "The truth and the past are mine, and I have my right to keep them to myself if I wish."

He stood there a moment, watching her. Talia heard him shake his head, then turn towards the door.

"You should have known you gave up that right the moment you agreed do to something so dubious," he said, the door closing behind him with a soft, tired click.

_**AN I'm not going to lie, I picture Doctor Gale as a nice, not crazy/sadistic**_ **_version of Crane. Cillian Murphy's face just dominates my brain._**

**_Talia's kind of in a weird stage at the moment, I think. Part of her is trying to start feeling again and get away from what she's known most of her life, but the rest of her is rebelling against it, which makes it a little weird to write at times.  
_**

**_Tell me what you thought of the chapter.  
_**


End file.
